


How to Forget

by Someone_aka_Me



Series: in a world that could've left us hard as metal [13]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Justin is conflicted, Justin's family are really religious, M/M, POV Second Person, Religious Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-19
Updated: 2014-08-19
Packaged: 2018-02-13 19:29:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2162364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Someone_aka_Me/pseuds/Someone_aka_Me
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You wonder how it is possible to want something so badly and simultaneously loathe the thought of it."</p>
            </blockquote>





	How to Forget

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MissingMommy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissingMommy/gifts).



> Only for Sam. Herein you find the closest thing to smut I will ever write.

He crawls into your bed some nights, hiding you both behind the curtains of your four-poster and sealing them with spells.

He traces poetry into your skin with his fingertips and holds you close to his heart. He is afraid of what this world is becoming and so he clings to you and you don't know why.

You don't know why he does and you don't know why you let him, don't know why you curl into the warmth that he provides instead of pushing him away.

All you know is that you're scared too, terrified, and his fingertips light a fire under your skin in the way they aren't supposed to (your parents would disown you if they knew, if they knew you let this boy into your bed at night).

But he is Ernie, and when you are with him you maybe start to believe that this will all be okay, that the Dark Lord rising outside Hogwarts' walls will never be able to touch you.

You might be falling in love with him but you don't let yourself think about it because when this is all over you want to go home, but you still have scars on the back of your thighs from the time you were eight and you asked why your Uncle Mark was not allowed at Christmas just because he'd married a man, and wasn't that just the same as marrying a woman only they could borrow each other's clothes?

You know better than to ask, now. You know better than to send letters to Uncle Mark from your home address or make calls using your house phone because to your parents, your father's littlest brother does not exist anymore.

You feel guilt when Ernie's fingertips trace low on your stomach, flitting across the hipbones that edge above the waistband of your pyjama pants. His hands push up your shirt and map the lines of your stomach, your chest and you don't stop him but there is a collision of fireworks and wrongwrongwrong going on inside of you and you can't move. You wonder how it is possible to want something so badly and simultaneously loathe the thought of it and you hate yourself as you gasp out his name when his fingertips skim over your nipple. He smiles and you have the thought that you'd like to know what that smile tastes like. You've never kissed him and he's never kissed you because he knows you, knows about your family because he's your best friend and you had to explain why you cling so tightly yet continue to push him away.

You are scared, so scared and he is so patient all the time but something is different about this moment right here.

His voice is breathless as he asks, "Jus, do you want this?"

And, helplessly, you do. More than anything.

The air itself is holding its breath in the space between you, and you are so in love with him you cannot breathe and you are so afraid of everything but he makes you feel so safe, and so you nod.

He sucks in a breath and there is a look of wonder in his eyes and then, oh-so-slowly, he leans toward you.

And you've spent this whole time letting him do things and you know that to prove the nod is true you have to do more than allow it and so you push yourself up on your elbows and close the space between you.

He tastes of mint toothpaste and longed-for dreams and you press yourself tighter to him. He rolls over, so that instead of lying by your side he is straddling your stomach, one knee planted on either side of you as he leans down. His lips are firm but gentle and hopeful and you feel your eyes slip closed. You take him in with the rest of your senses, feeling every spot his body touches yours. You let your spine uncurl, coming off your elbows in order to free your hands because now that you've tasted with your lips you want to taste with your hands. He follows you down.

You find the hem of his shirt and slip your hands underneath it. His stomach is curved and warm and you realise that touching him feels as good as his hands on you.

You want more, more. You slide you hands up further. His chest is firmer and he gasps into your mouth as you brush against his nipple. You grin and focus your attention there. After a moment, it pulls a groan out of him and the blood rushes straight down.

His mouth pulls away from yours and you can't help the small noise of complaint that escapes you. He smirks and grips the hem of his shirt where it is bunched beneath his armpits. With one quick tug, he pulls it over his head.

For a moment, it is all you can do to stare, your hands still pressed against his pectorals.

"I... Ernie," you finally manage to gasp out. His smirk fades into a smile and he fingers the hem of your pyjama top.

"May I?" He asks. You nod helplessly, curving your spine so that he can pull it off.

He settles back on your stomach, his hands tracing the lines that he can now see.

"God, Jus," he breathes. Then his lips are tracing the lines that his hands just did and you can't help it, your back arching and your mouth is making noises you didn't know you were capable of.

His knees slide backwards and his lips are tracing lines all the way down your stomach.

You are lost to the sensation, sparing only half a moment to be grateful for his habit of silencing charms.

He takes his teeth to the elastic of your pyjamas, pulling them down just enough so that he can get to your hipbones clearly this time. He bites down and you yell, but it is just as much pleasure as pain and you are incoherent with it as he sucks a bruise into the skin, tracing over it with his tongue.

His hands reach up and land at the elastic of your waistband.

"Okay?" he says and you nod.

"Yes," you breathe and then your pants are tangled at your knees and his tongue is on you.

You buck, unused to warm and wet there and his hands are at your hips, trying to keep you still. He feels like bliss and inexperience and the latter only makes it better because he is yours.

You aren't breathing. It's all you can do to just feel, in this moment. You get lost in the sensation of his skin against yours and the warmth of his mouth and the electricity of his fingers and you forget.

You forget that someday you will have to choose between this and your family. You forget that this is supposed to be wrong. You forget the lines on your thighs and the fear in your mind. You forget it all, and you simply exist. And it is perfection.


End file.
